Updates! Two updates in less than 24 hours. (I've been feeling industrious). There won't be an update tomorrow, but I will try and get the next chapter up by the end of the week.

Enjoy!

'Bren!' Brendan had almost forgotten how loud his sister was. 'Everyone said you weren't going to make it, but I said I knew better. I knew better.' She pinched his cheeks like he was a child and kissed him on the cheek, which would be closely followed by a lick of her thumb and her wiping saliva all over his face as she tried to dislodge the bright pink smudge. He loved his sister but there was a good reason he lived in a different country. Then again, it was possible that if he didn't live as far away as he did, she wouldn't act so crazy every time she saw him.

His neck was crushed in what was now his forth near-suffocating hug until she finally noticed what was missing.

'Where's Mitzeee?' she said the name like it was an insult and she pulled a pose which was clearly supposed to be Mitzeee-like. It wasn't. She looked ridiculous, but that was better, because he couldn't really think about his friend right now. He just wanted a whiskey, a lot of them and he wanted to drink himself into a stupor which would see Cheryl have to defend him to her overtly noble husband Nate and his witch of a mother. So he told the truth:

'Anne and I broke up.'

'Good,' she nodded approvingly, but she quickly changed tack. 'I mean…. What did she do?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Course not,' she agreed, linking her arm around his. 'You come inside and I'll get you a whiskey. It's so good you've come without her, Bren. I get to have you all to myself. And,' she lowered her voice to what she considered to be a whisper but what anyone else might consider a normal talking level, 'I know I didn't tell you this but, I never really liked her.'

He almost laughed at that, but it might have ruined the moment so he just said:

'I guessed, Chez.' And breathed in the smell of the house and the aroma of Irish stew coming from the kitchen, and spotted some of the pictures from their childhood home and everything felt familiar. It felt like a strange kind of home-coming; the kind that quickly reminds you why you left home in the first place. It only took a few hours of Cheryl's insistent pampering for him to find himself making excuses about long days and tiring trips and he was heading up to bed. Nate just flashed him a knowing smile; maybe the old toff wasn't so bad after all.

::

He had a head ache the next morning, though he didn't know why. Maybe it was the stress of leaving his Estate in the hands of two incompetent baboons, or perhaps it was because he wasn't sure if he was ever going to see Anne again, or perhaps it was because it was Chez's birthday and it was the day he was going to have to present her with his gift. Or maybe it was the strong aromas of an Irish breakfast wafting under the door. Cheryl was trying too hard to impress him, when in reality the very fact that she was normal with a normal life and normal home impressed him more than anything.

The décor was the only real negative to her set up. The walls were high with weirdly low picture rails and the room she'd prepared for him (the room she always prepared for him) had way too much green to be justified; pale green carpets, dark green walls with a lighter green curtains. There was a sink in the corner of his room, which was green and Cheryl had even gone to the effort of purchasing some green bed sheets. It was very … homely. He heard the word in Anne's accent. They'd spent many a morning led in this room slagging off the design. Unfortunately, Anne had never remembered to keep it to themselves and would continue to slag off the rest of the house loudly over breakfast. She was a cow sometimes. It was no wonder Cheryl was glad to see the back of her.

Eventually the bacon and egg smell was too powerful to resist and Brendan found himself being dragged, salivating, from the warmth of his covers and into the cold corridors of the house until he reached the kitchen. He was surprised to find that it was Nate slaving over the stove.

'Chez's got you well-trained,' Brendan noted as he dropped onto one of the tall bar stools next to a rustic breakfast island.

'You've got to keep the birthday girl happy,' Nate grinned back, with his usual posh-mans, not-a-care-in-the-world optimism.

'You'll be lucky,' Brendan muttered under his breath as he looked at Nate's culinary masterpiece. The smell was the only thing he'd got right. The bacon was as black as Brendan's own moustache and the eggs were as runny as the Irish Sea and the sausages … Brendan couldn't even look at them, butchered and blackened as they were. And louder, he announced: 'I think I might go out for breakfast.' And before Nate had time to protest about having made plenty or any other comment of misplaced kindness, Brendan added: 'Give you and Chez some alone time this morning.'

He left before Nate could stop him and wandered easily into the Northern Irish village. They talked with different accents, they used the pound, and it would cost him a fortune to answer a call when Walker or Warren decided they needed his advice on something, but the sea was just as blue and the peacefulness that surrounded the countryside was still distinctly familiar to him. He knew, deep down that Killough was the kind of place he could retire to, if he lived long enough to retire.

He'd buy the huge house near the sea and he'd be able to visit his sister without having to stay with her, which would be nice. He'd buy a sailing boat. He'd never tried sailing but he imagined he'd be good at it. He might even take up golf, or possibly develop a real thirst for bingo. There was only one thing for certain; he'd be alone.

Cheryl would take pity on him. She'd buy him a pet for company every year on his birthday and, because he wouldn't look after them properly, they'd die one by one like a slow reminder of his own mortality. She'd let him have a big part in her kid's lives, which would be a mistake. He'd only teach them how to get away with cheating on exams. She'd visit all the time so there would always be family around. But there'd be no one to love him, no one for him to love. He'd keep up the lie of never having found the right woman to keep Cheryl close. She'd disown him if she knew the truth, just like his mother had, just like his father would have.

But that was all wild fantasy, anyway. The truth was, he'd never have the luxury of retiring. The Estate would swallow him up and spit him out with a bullet through his brain long before retirement age. He was already getting older, he was living on borrowed time and on The Estate everyone had a life sentence.

'Bren, this is Margery,' Cheryl introduced the latest unattractive friend. 'Margery's in my book club. She's a doctor and she's a fan of Johnny Cash.' Brendan's perfect woman, presumably. His own introduction was hideous in comparison: 'This is Brendan, he's my brother. He works in … well, it's complicated. I'll let him explain.'

It was complicated because he'd fudged the lie every time she'd said she thought he deserved a promotion or more money, both of which were a joke. He was at the top of his game and had access to more money than he could admit to or she could imagine. He couldn't even remember the lie job he held at the moment; chief executive manager of the corporation. Something like that. Anne would know, she remembered useless things like that so that she could use her brilliant job as acting girlfriend to blackmail a new television out of him. Though Brendan couldn't help feel that if Anne was there, he would never have even been introduced to Margery from the Book Club, or Jane from Crochet Club, or Frances from her cooking course, or Gina from down the pub, or any of the other rainbow selection of women his well-meaning sister was going to send his way.

He stopped her eventually. He managed to corner her in the huge dining hall and hiss:

'No more.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she blinked, all blue eyes and innocent blonde curls. If she wasn't so tall and clearly independent, he'd almost have believed her.

'Just stop,' he said half-menacingly. 'It's too soon,' he lied easily. 'I'm not ready.'

Her whole demeanour changed, she stroked a hand up and down his arm and said:

'I'm sorry, Bren. I know I didn't like her, but I know what she meant to you.'

'Thanks,' he continued playing the part of "spurned lover". He could've won an Oscar.

'And don't worry, you'll soon move on to someone with a bit of class, love. No more sluts.'

Then she adjusted her bra in plain sight of the whole room, before marching off to be showered with more birthday-compliments:

'You don't look a day over twenty one.'

'Fantastic outfit, Cheryl.'

'What a lovely gift Cheryl, where did you get that from?'

Brendan felt a sense of pride at that question. He'd found her the perfect gift in the end, and it had been a suggestion from Steven on their last night together.

'Get her something personal,' the lad had said. 'Something that's special to both of you, maybe something of you growing up. If I had to come up with a special gift for Callum, I'd probably frame the selfie we took after our first job together and stick it in a frame or something. I'd even go to Boots and have the photo on some proper nice paper.'

And that's what Brendan had done. He'd searched his cupboard of "stuff" - the hoarding gene was strong in him - and he'd eventually found photos of himself and Cheryl playing on the beach as children. They looked happy in those pictures. He'd picked his favourite and found an expensive frame to go with it on the way to Cheryl's house. Now the photo was sitting in pride of place on the "gift table".

He was glad when one of the catering staff waiters strolled past and offered him a glass of champagne. It was like the young man knew exactly what he needed. He caught the lad's eye suddenly; skinny, dark hair, cheeky, come-take-me smile. They were both thinking it, now all that was left was for Brendan to organise the where and how.

Brendan was just preparing to make his move, when he heard raised voices from the hallway. One which was very much not Irish, and very much was Anne's.

'I don't care what you think he wants,' she was yelling. 'I will see Brendan, and you, big bird, are not going to stop me!'

'Big bird!' that was Cheryl's outraged voice. He could imagine her rolling up the sleeves of her flowery shirt and raising her fists ready to fight. He had no idea who'd win. Cheryl had a distinct height advantage, but Anne would play dirty, she always did.

He could only imagine the glares that would be firing between them, but he knew that if he could hear their argument then everyone else in the room would be able to hear it too. He needed to silence them as quickly as possible, he didn't need his private life, fictional or otherwise, to be broadcast to all of Cheryl's weird friends.

He rushed as unsuspiciously as he could to the corridor, avoiding Nate's disappointed shake of the head. Yes, he'd ruined another one of Chez's birthdays but he'd been doing it so frequently, for so long, it was almost family tradition. He had to duck to the side to avoid being cornered by Margery and her desperately flirtatious hair-flicking and giggling. The thought of her actually fancying him made him sick. At least Anne had class and an underlying, feisty temperament which made her as cunning and fierce as some of the worst criminals he knew and that was in spite of her tiny stature, idiotic pseudonym and fabulous fashion sense.

She beamed when she saw him, gave a bit of a wave that looked like a dance with her fingers and said:

'Hi sweetheart.'

She was as dressed up as she'd ever been. She could have comfortably taken to the red carpet and not looked out of place. She did look out of place at a 27th birthday party in Killough. But Brendan saw through the fake "hello", just like he saw through her fake tan. It wasn't that she was still angry at him. She'd forgiven him, she always did, but she was hiding something, something he wouldn't like.

'Don't "sweetheart" him,' Cheryl said aggressively drawing herself to her full height and getting her weight behind her words. 'I know everything.'

'Everything? Really?' Anne asked sceptically, not taking her eyes off Brendan. He could do nothing except frown in a way he hoped said: "Of course she doesn't know everything."

But Cheryl just kept yelling:

'All about the affair,' Cheryl growled.

'Affair?' Anne demanded, but Brendan was just as confused as she was.

'Chez, I didn't say anything about an affair.'

'You didn't have to, babe,' she smiled gently towards him, before turning her hostility back on Anne. 'A woman can always tell a slut when she sees one and you, love,' she pointed a luminous orange nail practically in Anne's face, 'are 100%, prime slut!'

Anne rolled her eyes, which would be more annoying to Cheryl than a straight out fight. Brendan could practically see his sister shaking in fury, and it only got worse when Anne sighed, sarcastically:

'You know, Brendan, I do love these visits to your sister's.'

Cheryl opened her mouth to speak, or more likely scream, but before she could level any more undeserved accusations Anne's way, he interrupted.

'What are you doing here, Anne? I thought you'd gone to London.'

Anne shrugged a little. 'I wanted to give you a goodbye gift.' She gestured vaguely through the window to her car. Cheryl swayed forward to get a better look.

'I don't think our Brendan's going to be impressed by a hot pink convertible,' she scoffed.

'You've be surprised,' Anne mumbled, loud enough for them all to hear but for only two of them to make sense of.

'What?' Cheryl frowned.

'Wait here,' Anne smiled a little this time. 'I'll go and get the gift.'

'Watch it,' Cheryl called after her in a truly wonderful demonstration of passive aggression. 'She's probably got a bullet for you, Bren. You just can't trust a gold-digger!' Every word was louder than the last. She was virtually chasing Anne through the door with insults, and though she would probably claim to be addressing Brendan, she was glaring at the doorway with guard-dog hostility.

'Chez,' Brendan said softly, touching her arm gently. It was up to him to diffuse this situation. 'Cheryl.'

'What?' she snapped, finally turning away from the empty doorway.

'Just … let me handle it, whatever it is.'

'But she….'

'Please.' He interrupted smoothly. 'I love her.' It came easily because it wasn't a lie, not really. 'She's been the most important person in my life for so long so please, let me handle it.'

'Fine,' she relented. 'But I'll be right next door and if I hear so much as one raised voice, I will slap the cow; got it?'

'Okay.' He fought back the laughter bubbling in his gut, but it still manifested itself as a bit of a smirk on his face. It was funny when she got defensive. It was funny that she thought he needed protecting. He kissed her meaningfully on the forehead and then guided her towards her sitting room so she could return to her birthday party.

He was more grateful than ever that he'd managed to get her the perfect gift. He could only hope it would go some of the way to making up for all this crap.

But as soon as Anne returned with his "gift", Brendan changed his mind. It wasn't that he needed to apologise to Cheryl, it was that Anne needed to apologize to him.

What was she thinking bringing Steven here?

xXx

'This is my sister's house, Anne. My sister,' he cried desperately and a few octaves higher than he would have liked. He wasn't looking at Steven. Brendan didn't have to look at the lad to know that those blue eyes were fixed right on him. He didn't need to glance over to know that he'd bought, or possibly stolen himself some new clothes, or that he'd styled his hair like he had in Barcelona or that he smelt good and looked better. He didn't have to look because he saw Steven all the time, in all the faces on the street. It was like a disease with no cure. Looking at him would only make this harder. 'What are you doing?' he asked her.

'You may be able to convince yourself that you're okay on your on, but you can't fool me so easily,' she said determinedly, putting a hand on Steven's thin shoulder. 'I have to leave, you know that. But he doesn't.' She pushed Steven forward a few paces. He stumbled a little, but he was less of a shell that he'd been when Brendan last saw him. Even a few days apart had done the lad good. Anne couldn't see it, insisting that Brendan: 'Talk to him.'

He finally allowed himself to look. Steven was everything he'd expecting and that feeling like he'd just eaten a dodgy curry in India rushed to him. He felt a kind of sick that couldn't be named. Then Steven spoke:

'What am I doing here, Brendan?' He sounded exhausted. He'd finally grown weary of dancing Brendan's crazy Irish jig. 'What was so urgent that you sent Mitzeee to pick me up from the airport?'

'Airport?' he directed that question towards Anne. She just shrugged:

'I thought it would be like a cheap rom-com, but I had to wait hours and hours at security for him to arrive. You know, he was so late that he would probably have missed his plane even without my little intervention,' Steven squirmed embarrassedly, 'which tells me that….'

'Nobody cares what it tells you,' Brendan cut in for reasons he couldn't admit to. Not that it stopped Anne, not much did.

'It tells me that he didn't want to go to London, or to Rae.'

'Is that true?' Brendan asked. He couldn't stop himself. The lad just shrugged. He still didn't know what he wanted and that was Brendan's fault. But then Steven spoke, slowly and determinedly and utterly sure of himself and Brendan was reminded why he'd been drawn to the boy in the first place.

'I thought you would ask me to stay,' he said steadily, eyes so strong and so focused on Brendan that the older man found himself looking away. 'Mitzeee told me all this stuff…'

'Did she?' Brendan glared at his supposed friend, but Steven was on a roll now.

'… all about how you'd never been like this with anyone before me. And that she thought we were well suited and that she thought…. Well, she thought….' He trailed off uncomfortably. It was obviously too difficult for Steven to voice what Anne had thought. Anne, however, had no such difficulties.

'I told him you loved him.'

Brendan could have killed her. He could have taken out a pistol and shot her straight in the face. He was used to Anne telling him her insane theories about his so-called emotions, but to track Steven down at Dublin Airport and unload her romanticised insanity on him; that was crossing the line.

'So,' Steven regained Brendan's attention just like he always did, 'do you?'

'Steven, I….' He splashed around for an appropriate answer. How could he explain the twisted whirlpool of his mind with words? But all eyes were on him and he had to explain somehow. These were the two people he was most comfortable with, these were the two people he could talk to and from somewhere, the words began to surface.

'I broke you, Steven,' he began quietly, and with more honesty than he'd ever had before. 'I turned the Blue Zoners against you, I turned you into a slave, I got rid of your only friend on The Estate. I screwed you over again and again until you had nothing, just,' he gasped, he hadn't expected this to be so hard, 'just so I could be your everything.' He looked to the floor. He couldn't stand Steven's expression anymore. 'I don't know what that is,' he sighed, 'but it's not love.'

'But….'

'You should go now,' he mumbled, 'back to Rae.' It was all he could manage. He even forgot to mispronounce her name. 'I'm sure Anne will take you back to the airport. Pick any flight, I'll pay.'

'But….'

'Leave!' He was more authoritative this time and he saw Anne from the corner of his eye as she stepped forward and took Steven by the shoulders. She was guiding him away, but this was Steven. He couldn't let things go. He always had to have the last word, the final stab in the gut with a subtle blade of honesty that would make Brendan's walls crash down around him.

'You say you did all that stuff so that you could be everything to me, what you don't seem to realise is … you already were.'

It hurt more than a knife. Brendan felt sick and disorientated. It was like the air was being crushed from his lungs and he was just left gasping. He didn't know if it was the words, or watching two people walk out of his life that had left him in this state. He hated it. He wanted to stop them but he couldn't. This was the right thing for both of them.

And that was when things went very, very wrong all over again.

'You're gay, aren't you?'

Just thought some of you might be half-interested to know that this entire fanfic came about because I was cycling along one day and had "I broke you down until you had nothing, just so I could be your everything" stuck in my head somehow. To me it sounded like it was in Brendan's accent and everything else came from there.

Hope you're enjoying it so far! There are plenty of twists still to come.

xx